Beyoncé and Shaboozey take the stage on Christmas Day, their voices weaving into the soul of country music. How dare they?

The sound of guitars and a Southern tone should belong to someone else, right? Someone more… fitting? Someone who doesn’t carry the weight of history in their voice? Someone who won’t shake the status quo of a genre by simply showing up and daring to be excellent?

And then Beyoncé does what only Beyoncé can do—she redefines the moment. She releases a country album, standing tall in a genre that loves its traditions but forgets its roots. The Grammys take notice. She wins Album of the Year.

And just like that, the country music purists and the gatekeepers of belonging collectively clutch their pearls. How dare she? They say she isn’t country. That it’s an insult. That she doesn’t belong in their space, a space built from the sounds of Black artists whose credit were stolen, erased, or buried.

The discomfort isn’t about the music. It’s about control.

And then Kendrick Lamar steps up.

Five Grammy wins for a diss track.

A diss track? In their space? How dare he?

His performance unfolds like a story. His words hit hard. His symbolism is precise. His delivery? Too much for some. Too Black. Too unapologetic. They mumble in frustration—I can’t even understand what he’s saying. As if understanding has ever been the goal. As if their inability to hear should silence the message.

It’s too raw, too real, too urgent. They call it a disgrace.

And yet, Kendrick isn’t performing for their approval. He’s performing because the truth demands to be heard. And when truth and art collide, there is nothing more powerful.

How dare he exist?

Serena Williams, the greatest to ever hold a racket, wins gold at the Olympics. And to celebrate, she does the Crip Walk. A dance born from the streets, from culture, from identity. A dance that moves with history.

The tennis world is up in arms. The backlash is swift. How dare she bring that into their pristine, white-linen-clad world of tennis? The same world that never wanted her there in the first place.

Fast forward, and the same move shows up at the Super Bowl. This time, it’s “disrespectful.” Because when it comes from us, when it’s ours, when it holds the weight of meaning—they demand we erase it. Water it down. Make it palatable.

And when we don’t? When we refuse?

How dare we exist?

The rules are clear, aren’t they? They always have been.

You can be exceptional, but not too exceptional.
You can succeed, but not that way.
You can break barriers, but don’t break the wrong ones.
You can celebrate, but only on their terms.
You can be Black—but only the kind of Black they are comfortable with.

We see it in everything.

DEI was once a commitment to making space, to breaking down barriers. Now, some use it as a slur. A target. The first thing on the chopping block. The very idea of inclusion is too much.

Being “woke” once meant awareness, consciousness, understanding the world around you. Now, it’s a dirty word. A weaponized insult. A way to dismiss those who demand more. Remove those who refuse to take the ‘blue pill’.

The backlash is loud. The dismantling, strategic. They tell us diversity has gone too far—as if there was ever a moment in history where it was enough.

Black people are forever being told we do not belong.

We don’t follow the rules.
We are a blight.
We are a threat.
We are incompetent.
We are liars when we speak of discrimination.
We are not to be believed when we say, This is what’s happening to us.

HOW DARE YOU EXIST.

Well, we do.

We exist.

And we have earned our place—not that we should have to. But we have, over and over again.

The discomfort—anger, outrage, pearl-clutching—isn’t about fairness, quality, or tradition. It’s a reflection. A mirror. A fear of losing control. A fear of being exposed for what they truly believe:

That they deserve everything. Without challenge. Without competition. Without question.

So what do we do?

We keep going.
We keep winning.
We keep creating.
We keep showing up.
We keep celebrating.
We keep living.

And we do it all without apology.

So, to those who keep asking:

How dare we exist?

Watch us.

We exist.
We thrive.
We lead.
We win.

And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.